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Class. PSqSf-f 

Book^C^rli 
Copyright N° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 












I 

J 



C^e Lotoe Letters 

of a 

Coquette 



BY 






Warren A. Hawley 



PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 









THE u"f~YOF I 
Two Copies Received 

FEB 20 1903 

. Copyright Entry 
CLASS (X.XXc. No. 

*v\>vvv 



1*03 * If 



COPYRIGHT 1902 
BY HENRY ALTEMUS 



* 

^ "There is no other call 

From wind to wave, from rose 

to asphodel, 
Than Love's alone — the thing 

we cannot quell, 
Do what we will, from font to 

funeral/' 



PROLOGUE 

It was the twilight of a per- 
fect day in the year 189 — , 
wooed by the perfume of sum- 
mer, I left my abode to saunter 
along the border of an adja- 
cent lake. At that hour, a 
peaceful quiet reigned. The 
crescent of a new moon spread 
a silvery mantle over the 
ground, while softer rays of 
the earlier stars twinkled 
through the rifts in the drift- 
ing clouds. The hills loomed 
7 



PROLOGUE 



indistinctly in the dusk and 
divided the cool calm of ap- 
proaching night from the flee- 
ing warmth of a waning 
day. 

The never-dying poetry of 
earth once more stood revealed 
in all the freshness of immortal 
youth. Under the influence of 
such an environment, my 
thoughts floated tranquilly — 
carried hither and thither by 
the tide of recollection — over 
the vast ocean of the past. 

I scarcely felt the slight im- 
8 



PROLOGUE 



pact of my foot against an ob- 
ject lying in the pathway. I 
stooped and picked up a packet 
of letters. They were ad- 
dressed to a man in a char- 
acteristically feminine hand. 
Confident that the owner 
would discover his loss and re- 
trace his steps, I threw myself 
upon the green sward beside 
the path and contemplated the 
hills beyond the lake until the 
last faint tint of the day was 
gone. Nothing disturbed the 
solitude. I returned to my 
9 



. 



PROLOGUE 



lodging with the packet in my 
hand. 

The following morning, I 
learned that a party of merry- 
makers, returning from some 
festivity, had found, near the 
spot where I had rested, the 
body of a young man half sub- 
merged in the lake. Until then, 
I had scarcely thought of the 
letters. From that instant, 
however, they and the dead man 
became associated in my mind ; 
that they belonged to him, I 
felt convinced. I read them 

10 



PROLOGUE 



with intense interest, thinking 
to find a motive for the un- 
timely death. A short while 
afterward, I was told that a 
young woman, one of the mer- 
riest of that merry party, had 
suffered much from the hor- 
ror of seeing and recognizing 
the ghastly face of the man to 
whom she was betrothed. 

That woman was Claire 
Vaughn. One of the witnesses 
to the scene added what might 
be considered a significant in- 
cident. Miss Vaughn's special 
ii 



PROLOGUE 



companion in the party, whom 
my informant characterized as 
a tall, foreign-looking man of 
striking appearance, had been 
among those who had pressed 
forward to remove the corpse 
from the water. As the fea- 
tures were upturned to the 
moonlight, this man had given 
an involuntary start, which al- 
most caused him to release his 
grasp upon the dripping clothes 
of the dead man. At the same 
instant, he had uttered a smoth- 
ered cry. 

12 



PROLOGUE 



"My God! It's Harry Yar- 
nall!" 

Even in the agony of her 
own grief, Miss Vaughn had 
seen the movement and heard 
the cry. When she had re- 
covered from the first shock, 
she had turned upon her com- 
panion, and in a low but pierc- 
ing voice had asked : 

"What do you know about 
Harry? He never told me 
that he knew you." 

The man's reply was in- 
audible to my informant. He 
13 



PROLOGUE 



appeared ill at ease. It would 
seem, however, that he was 
seeking to explain. Suddenly, 
a wild light shot from the eyes 
of the unhappy woman. With 
a gasp, she had cried : 

"Your name is not George 
Bradley; you are — " The 
next moment she had fallen in 
a deep swoon. 

These circumstances made 
such an impression upon me 
that I found myself pondering 
over what possible combination 
of events could have induced 
14 



PROLOGUE 



the young man to take his life. 
Perhaps he had seen Miss 
Vaughn drive by with the one 
man that he did not expect to 
see, and, if so, was not that 
man a traitor to him? Per- 
haps they had kissed, and the 
light in her eyes had damned 
the love in Harry Yarnall's 
heart; perhaps her companion 
was the cynic whom he had 
made his confidant. Per- 
haps — 

But why continue conject- 
ures which the reader, when he 
15 



PROLOGUE 



is in possession of all the facts, 
can offer as intelligently as my- 
self? 

I read and re-read the let- 
ters ; they haunted me. Some- 
thing within compelled me to 
formulate a series of letters 
from the young man, the de- 
tails of which might have 
caused the replies still remain- 
ing in my possession. How 
well I have done this, the 
reader may determine. 



W. A. H. 

16 



The Love Letters 
of a Coquette 



Dear Claire: 

I reached New York safely, 
after having spent the usual 
disagreeable night on the train ; 
it is needless to say that I did 
not sleep. Why? Because, 
dear, all the old unrest re- 
turned. When with you, list- 
ening to your words, looking 
into your eyes, I accepted all 
17 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

that you told me in perfect 
faith; out of your presence, 
however, I am again afloat on 
a sea of doubts and mis- 
givings. 

My reason tells me that an 
affianced bride should not per- 
mit another man to kiss her. 
One so clever as you are 
should have been aware of what 
was coming; in fact, under the 
circumstances, the woman does 
not live whose intuition would 
have been at fault. When a 
man wishes to kiss a girl, some- 
18 



OF A COQUETTE 



thing warns her of the con- 
templated act in ample time, 
and with the same unerring 
conviction as your Aunt Hetty's 
rheumatism forbodes a change 
of weather. Therefore, since 
you tell me that you did not 
anticipate it, your failure to 
do so suggests anything but a 
compliment to a prominent 
characteristic of your sex. 

Of course, I am quite sure 
of your love. Nevertheless, 
this miserable affair hurts, be- 
cause I have pleased myself 
19 

2 — Coquette 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

with the thought that the 
Creator made those sweet lips 
for me alone. It seems to me 
to be a profanation of our love, 
in so far forgetting me, — or at 
least, in temporarily casting me 
adrift, for the pleasure of a 
casual evening's entertainment 
in which there is an element 
of doubtful propriety. 

Moreover, the man did not 
get up and kiss you with the 
semblance of one who, at that 
instant, suddenly remembered 
that he had forgotten some- 

20 



OF A COQUETTE 



thing. He would have been 
a loon to have done that, and 
most girls would have boxed 
his ears soundly for his stu- 
pidity rather than for his im- 
pertinence. No, he did not 
act so idiotically. Therefore, 
the conversation must have 
become far more personal, to 
put it mildly, than you are 
willing to concede. 

After many questions on my 
part, you reluctantly admitted 
that you "gave him just a little 
peck" in return, hastening to 

21 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

add that it was not at all as 
you kissed me. That fact 
consoles me somewhat; indeed, 
it is an intense relief; but why 
the necessity for the "little 
peck" as you express it? 

No, dear, it is wrong, and it 
makes me apprehensive lest you 
do not love me as fondly or as 
deeply as I would wish. 

In reflecting upon the inci- 
dents of our summer at Cape 
May, last year, I call to mind 
my protest regarding the pin 
which belonged to your former 

22 



OF A COQUETTE 



fiance, Mr. Gay. I told you 
then that its return would 
engender a false idea, and pos- 
sibly revive an old story, but, 
you insisted upon sending it 
back with a formal note. To 
this, I finally gave a tacit con- 
sent, though feeling that on the 
slightest provocation — a look, 
a few words of explanation, 
the love for Harry Yarnall 
might be supplanted by the 
earlier attachment for Paul 
Gay. 

I do not mean to doubt you ; 
23 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

I love you as no man has ever 
loved before. You are the 
idol of my heart, but I do not 
want to spend half my time 
in picking up the chips that 
are unconcernedly knocked off 
by every vandal in the town. 

Further, the man who kisses 
you, knowing of your engage- 
ment, has no respect for you. 
He makes his adieitx chuckling 
to himself, retails the story of 
the bonnebouche to his chums 
and, behold! each idiot appears 
in turn with puckered lips and 



OF A COQUETTE 



tender hopes, all of which may- 
be sweet unction to your ardent 
soul, but, the mere thought 
of it is gall and wormwood 
to me. 

Please promise to think more 
of me than such careless con- 
duct would seem to indicate; 
and now, sweetheart, I must 
leave you. I have an engage- 
ment at the club. With all 
your frivolous tendencies, you 
are a dear, sweet girl, and I 
love you with all my heart. I 
send you a paper kiss, and of 
25 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

a truth I wish that it could 
be real rather than written. 
Ever your devoted 

Harry, 



26 



OF A COQUETTE 



II 

Dearie : 

Always after you leave me, 
I am desolate — a sense of utter 
loneliness creeps into my heart. 
I miss your tenderness. Yes- 
terday seems far away, and to- 
morrow so dim that I cannot 
even see its outline. Each 
day follows its predecessor with 
exactitude and monotony, and 
were it not for an occasional 
outing, I should die of ennui. 
As it is, my life seems reduced 
27 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

to a homely state of prosy 
vegetation. My nature craves 
more of excitement than is in- 
dicated in Larned's lines: — 

"To you whose temperate pulses 
flow 
With measured beat serene and 
slow." 

Later: Your letter has ar- 
rived, and was for the most 
part horrid. I have concealed 
nothing from you. I cannot 
see why you are not satisfied 
with my explanation of that 
silly affaire d' amour. I cannot 

29 



OF A COQUETTE 



help it that men like me. To 
be the object of unusual atten- 
tion, appeals to every girl's 
vanity, especially so, when 
that attention comes from a 
handsome man, and you must 
admit that Charlie is hand- 
some. 

You say that God gave you 
my lips. You did not discover 
that interesting fact until you 
had tried them and had found 
them good. Surely you 
ought not to blame others for 
assiduously laboring to ascer- 

2g 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

tain the lips that were pre- 
destined for them. I have no 
doubt that you did a tremen- 
dous amount of sampling in 
your quest for what the Lord 
intended should ultimately be- 
long to you. 

But, seriously, I know what 
you will say; that Charlie 
knew that I was engaged to 
you. How should he ? I 
never told him; he might not. 
No girl, with any delicacy of 
feeling, would voluntarily as- 
sume the role of an old-time 
30 



OF A COQUETTE 



town crier and shout the news 
of her engagement through 
the highways. It is bad 
enough when it is " an- 
nounced." If I refused to 
accept the attention offered 
me, I should have a dull time 
indeed. As you know, it is 
impossible for us to be together 
more than once in many moons, 
and you are very unreason- 
able to intimate that I should 
lock myself up and play the 
recluse. I am too young, and 
love admiration too much to 
3i 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

make even a temporary convent 
of my habitat. 

I have told you, sweetheart, 
that I love you. That I fancied 
Paul Gay, and perhaps two or 
three others previously, has 
nothing to do with the present 
state of my heart. Those 
affairs were simply experiences. 
You, as a man of the world, 
should know that a grande 
passion is rarely awakened by 
him who causes the first flutter- 
ing of a maiden's heart. I did 
not answer Paul's letter con- 
32 



OF A COQUETTE 



cerning the pin, and have felt 
rather mean in consequence. I 
tried to please you, and now 
because some man appears, — a 
man whom I have known since 
childhood, whom I have always 
liked, and because bon gre mal 
gre I am kissed, you resent it. 
I do not like a check-rein; I 
chafe under it. Once in so 
often, I must feel free to 
follow the trend of my inclina- 
tions. If you do not like it, 
Mr. Would-be-Jailer, I am 
sorry. I give you the best 
33 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

of my heart; all of my love; 
more than this, I cannot 
do. 

Oh! please, Harry, be sensi- 
ble. If I were always near, 
you would feel very differently, 
but our being so far apart 
destroys that entente cordiale, 
born of proximity — that one- 
ness we so love — even in the 
matter of chairs. However, 
I promise to conform more 
closely to what you wish, dear 
heart, so pick up the pieces of 
your idol — readjust them, and 
34 



OF A COQUETTE 



I will make a frantic effort to 
keep them together. 

Dear me! how terribly ugly 
I must appear to you, all 
chipped and disfigured. If you 
were not so skillful in preserv- 
ing your idol intact, I should 
soon resemble one of those 
dirty marble relics in the 
Louvre over which people rave 
so madly. N'est-ce pas? 

By the way, a Mr. George 
Bradley has invited me to go 
canoeing with him Saturday of 
next week. You have never 

35 

3 — Coquette 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

met him. He proposes to pad- 
dle up to Shriner's for supper, 
then to drift down stream in 
the moonlight. I must leave 
you now; callers have arrived. 

Please, dear, do not be cross. 
Your letter was anything but 
gallant in some places, and 
positively rude in others. But 
then, it pleased me, because, 
did you really not love me 
you would not care. 

With the tenderest of kisses, 
Your own 

Claire. 
36 



OF A COQUETTE 



II! 

Dear Claire: 

If you have "to feel free to 
follow the trend of your in- 
clinations once in so often," 
your love for me is not what it 
should be. Your letter has 
hurt me very much. As you 
know, I am extremely sensi- 
tive; therefore, jesting is un- 
kind. I have no intention of 
using a "check-rein" to any 
greater extent than would 
37 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

seem consistent with circum- 
stances as I view them. You 
evade the real issue when you 
condone Charlie Stratton's 
offense, and you do not ap- 
pear conscious of the license 
granted when such an act as 
his is not resented. 

I prefer that you do not 
go canoeing with Mr. Bradley. 
You said nothing of him while 
I was with you. Who is he? 
and where did you meet him? 

I love you. 

Harry. 
38 



OF A COQUETTE 



IV 

Dear Claire: 

Why have you not written? 
Are you ill? I am sorry that 
I wrote so peevishly last week. 
I can only furnish the excuse 
that your letter annoyed me. 
It seemed as though you w r ere 
making sport of all my serious- 
ness. Forgive me, and I will 
promise not to write another 
unkind word. I love you 
dearly, although I am very blue 
and unhappy. 

39 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

Perhaps I should not have 
said what I did about "follow- 
ing the trend of your inclina- 
tions." I could not avoid 
doing so; your letter made me 
cross. 

I fancied myself mistaken in 
you — even doubted your loy- 
alty, and now confess that I 
had thought seriously of 
breaking our engagement ; 
but I could not. Then I tried 
to find a logical cause for your 
seeming flippancy; I must 
admit that my search was 
40 



OF A COQUETTE 



quite vain. You acted upon 
my advice, I hope, and re- 
frained from going to Shriner's 
with Mr. Bradley, who, by the 
way, must be a very recent 
addition to your list of admir- 
ers. Please, let me hear from 
you, I am hungry for a sweet 
word. 

Ever your own 

Harry. 



4i 



THE LOVE LETTERS 



Dearest Claire: 

I am a prey to utter despair. 
You are not ill, I know, be- 
cause I met Charlie Stratton 
on the street yesterday, and 
Ire told me that you were quite 
well. I was not altogether 
cordial, I suppose, for I hate 
him for that kiss. My im- 
agination has run riot. I 
have fancied that that one 
was only a type of many, and 
42 



OF A COQUETTE 



your confession a sort of gen- 
eral one, made to cover all the 
osculatory favors bestowed on 
the aforesaid individual. Per- 
haps this is what you mean by 
following "the trend of your 
inclinations" occasionally. 

The contemplated canoe 
trip with that man Bradley is, 
I presume, a variant of this 
irresistible propensity — the 
Lord only knows what form it 
will assume next. 

Sometimes in their lives, I 
suppose that all girls do fool- 
43 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

ish things, and after escaping 
a few of them without serious 
consequences, they acquire con- 
fidence and a certain amount of 
taste for adventure. I suppose, 
too, that in time it becomes 
fascinating — this walking on 
thin ice. Personally, I prefer 
solid ground — and you should 
respect my wishes. 

But there! I shall cease 
complaining. If I continue, 
I fear that you will despise me. 
I am conscious of being in an 
unenviable position, having a 



OF A COQUETTE 



vague idea that you are disap- 
pointed in me, and yet, my love 
is very strong and absorbs my 
whole nature. There is noth- 
ing that I would not do 
for you. Therefore, please, 
darling, be kind to me; re- 
strain this impulsiveness; con- 
sider the fact that soon you 
will be called upon to adhere 
strictly to the conventions, 
and respect the restrictions 
that are imposed by society 
upon married women. 

If our wedded life is to be a 
45 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

happy one, you must renounce 
the frivolity which now seems 
to absorb your thoughts. To 
that end, if it will help you, 
let us be married this fall. My 
income would scarcely justify 
the step, nevertheless I am will- 
ing to make all kinds of sacri- 
fices for so sweet a reward. 

Now, dear, please — please 
write to me! Forgive me for 
distressing you. I could not 
help it. I am very miserable. 
You know that I love you be- 
yond words, or I would not be 
46 



OF A COQUETTE 



so insistent. Oh, if we could 

only see each other, these little 

differences would not arise. 

With a kiss, always your 

own 

Harry. 

P. S. — I sincerely hope that 
you followed my suggestion 
about the canoe trip. 

H. 



47 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

VI 

My Own Darling : 

This punishment is more 
than I can bear. Do write, 
tell me that I am forgiven, 
and I will be your slave — yes, 
your abject slave for life. 
Your silence is torture — 
worse than death. 

If you should tell me that we 

must part, I could possibly 

find courage and manliness 

enough to stifle my sorrow and 

48 



OF A COQUETTE 



hide it from the world — but 
this uncertainty and suspense 
are simply terrible. 

Oh, darling, pity me ! 

Ever your disconsolate 

Harry. 



49 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

VII 

Dear Harry: 

Nothing but a keen sense of 
your unhappiness prompts me 
to write, and if you expect for- 
giveness, you must stop doubt- 
ing me, and fretting yourself 
to a point bordering upon 
nervous prostration. 

Men are such unreasonable 
creatures — I am distinctly pro- 
voked with you. Of course, 
I went to Shriner's with George 
50 



OF A COQUETTE 



Bradley. He is not an enfant 
terrible, he was extremely affa- 
ble, and I had a lovely time. I 
cannot write more now, for he 
is here, and we are going for a 
drive. 

With a kiss, which you do 
not deserve, 

As ever, yours, 

Claire. 



5 1 

ti—Coquette 



THE LOVE LETTERS 
VIII 

Dear Claire: 

It seems to me that this 
fellow Bradley is altogether 
too attentive. Whether by 
accident or design, you hang 
me in mid-air, and my curi- 
osity, thus suspended, is fran- 
tically grabbing everywhere 
in the hope of finding some 
object upon which to rest. 

You do not write a solitary 
word of interest to me, except 
52 



OF A COQUETTE 



that you went to Shriner's 
with him after I had requested 
you not to do so. Moreover, 
in your letter, you were ob- 
viously preoccupied. It read 
very much as though it were 
undertaken as an unpleasant 
duty, notwithstanding the fact 
that you have apparently for- 
given me. 

No man burdens himself 
with a girl for six or seven 
hours, unless he is extraordi- 
narily interested in her. Con- 
versely, six or seven hours of 
53 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

one man would bore most girls 
to death. Since you volunta- 
rily spent that length of time 
together, it is fair to assume 
that he was interested, and that 
you were not bored to death. 
He probably became quite per- 
sonal, and sought your favor 
with all the fulsomeness of a 
miserable sycophant. 

It takes a strong mind to dis- 
cern, and some will-power to 
avoid, the snares of an adroit 
flatterer. There are many who 
are caught, but among clever 
54 



■M 



OF A COQUETTE 



women there are none. They 
can control any situation. 
There are still others who see 
the danger, but who prefer to 
drift, as it were, until a contre- 
temps is imminent. You are 
quite capable of being one 
who would never be guilty of 
a faux pas, but alas! the old 
doubts assail me, and I fear, 
I know not what. 

Now tell me — did Bradley 

kiss you? Pshaw! Of course 

he tried. I am a fool to hope 

that he did not make the effort, 

55 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

and I fear that you let him 
succeed. This is the seventh 
experience that you have had 
in the short time in which we 
have been engaged. If you 
permitted him to kiss you, 
Claire, all is ended between 
us. My self-respect will not 
allow me to tolerate the situ- 
ation any longer. At times, 
I think that you are possessed 
with a spirit of mischief, and 
take the keenest pleasure in 
relating incidents that irritate 
me. I cannot stand these 
56 



OF A COQUETTE 



doubts and uncertainties. I 
would be perfectly happy if, 
under given conditions, I 
could invariably depend upon 
your acting in a certain way. 
I am not especially jealous 
of this man. I think that you 
see too much of him. Of 
course, you have not told him 
that we are engaged. Please 
do not worry me. I cannot 
bear it. 

Your own 

Harry, 



57 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

IX 

Dear Harry: 

Once and for all time, let me 
give you to understand, that if 
you ever expect me to marry 
you, quit being an idiot. Not 
jealous! well, you have played 
the good Samaritan with a 
foundling, nursed it, cuddled 
it, and in a miraculously short 
period you have reared a mon- 
ster, green-eyed and horrible, 
a veritable Gorgon, but alas! 
58 



OF A COQUETTE 



you have not manifested any 
of the traits of Perseus. 

I will not longer endure your 
mean insinuations. I have told 
you that life here is dull, and 
that when there comes an 
opportunity for some diver- 
sion, some break in the irksome 
uniformity of the domestic 
calendar, I shall always take 
advantage of it. You appear 
to miss the first requisite of 
duty to me as your fiancee, 
that of confidence. If you are 
to have a spasm every time 
59 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

that I set foot abroad, we 
might as well end our engage- 
ment now. No, I will have 
no more of it, so take 
warning. 

I am going to have a good 
time while I may. Rest as- 
sured, that under no circum- 
stances will I forget my self- 
respect, nor is there the slight- 
est danger of my becoming 
declassed After I am married, 
which will not be next fall, for 
many reasons, it will be quite 
time for me to settle down and 
60 



wmm 



OF A COQUETTE 



be as sedate as pleases you. 
Just fancy me, me as Mrs. 
Henry Yarnall, demure, pain- 
fully proper, economical, mak- 
ing my own clothes out of six 
yards of material, instead of 
seventeen or twenty, warming 
your slippers, reading cook- 
books, going to bed at nine 
o'clock from sheer lack of 
better occupation. Oh! no, 
Harry, — it is too funny. I am 
not as yet sufficiently weary 
of my present state. Dear, 
you are sometimes delicious. 
61 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

Yesterday was class-day at 
the University, and a party of 
us drove over there. Strange 
as it may seem, I had never 
attended one of those intellect- 
ual functions. It was most 
impressive. I fancied all man- 
ner of strange things. You 
could imagine the trees and 
bushes all laden with the fruits 
of knowledge. Verily, a tall 
poplar was unquestionably 
bearing axioms and corollaries. 
The atmosphere was permeated 
with learning of every descrip- 
62 



OF A COQUETTE 



tion. Even the grass on the 
campus smacked of mathe- 
matics, and I never felt so 
utterly ignorant in all my life. 

George was untiring in his 
efforts to show me the build- 
ings, explained everything, and 
was altogether most kind. He 
told me that this University 
is his Alma Mater. He was 
stroke in the '87 'varsity 
crew. 

We had a very fine lunch 
under the trees, and while rest- 
ing there, pour passer le temps, 
63 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

he recited a little poem. Here 
it is: 

"Beneath a shady tree they sat, 

He held her hand, 
She held his hat. 

I held my breath 
And lay right flat. 

They kissed; I saw them do it. 
He held that kissing was no crime, 

She held her head up every time. 
I held my peace 

And wrote this rhyme, 
And they thought no one knew it." 

Isn't that cunning? I think 
that it is awfully clever. 
64 



OF A COQUETTE 



But revenons a nos nwutons, 
I am looking forward to the 
time when you can come up 
here. I think that you need me 
to soothe your perturbed spirits, 
and kiss away the fancied 
hurts. 

Will you not make a special 
effort to come Saturday, week 
after next, and stay until Sun- 
day night ? I have so much to 
tell you, and I long to be petted 
and caressed. You are such a 
dear, big man. I cannot ex- 
plain it exactly, but your size 
6s 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

seems to reduce me to a very- 
meek little me. But I do not 
mind it; the process is lovely. 
There is nothing quite so dear 
as cuddling up to you, and 
having your arms around me. 
Charlie Stratton called last 
night, and I know that you 
will be proud of me — he did 
not kiss me. We talked of 
everything under the sun, and 
finally, because he bored me, 
I sent him home. I was dead 
tired after our long drive to 

the University. 
66 



OF A COQUETTE 



And now, dearie, I must 
bring this letter to a close, for 
I have several errands to do, 
and one or two calls to return. 

With a tender kiss, 
Always your own, 

Claire. 



67 

5— Coquette 



THE LOVE LETTERS 



Dearest Claire: 

I have taken the contents of 
your letter to heart, and I am 
sorry for all that I have said, 
not to mention the insinua- 
tions. I cannot blame you 
for being cross, I certainly 
have deserved it. I suddenly 
realized that, had I long con- 
tinued in the frame of mind 
which has lately possessed 
me, I should have lost you, 
68 



OF A COQUETTE 



and my fond hopes of hap- 
piness would have been dis- 
pelled indeed. 

Therefore, I humbly apolo- 
gize, and will make a deter- 
mined effort to free my mind 
from the unhealthy atmosphere 
into which it has been allowed 
to drift. 

I will frankly tell you the 
cause. For some time past, I 
have been intimate with a man, 
whose very appearance is cyni- 
cism itself. He scoffs at sin- 
cerity in women, reviles all that 
69 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

is good in the world, believes in 
no future, defies God, man, and 
the devil. A good conversa- 
tionalist, full of interesting an- 
ecdotes, having traveled much, 
he was, from the first, attract- 
ive and magnetic. So much 
so, that from time to time, 
I gave him my confidences, 
even told him of you and of 
all my hopes for the future. 
He appeared kind, and un- 
usually interested in all that I 
said of you. For the mo- 
ment, his cynicism disap- 
70 



OF A COQUETTE 



peared. The insidiousness of 
his influence escaped my no- 
tice. It was not until I re- 
ceived your last letter that I 
fully realized how far his ideas 
had taken possession of my 
mind and dominated all my 
thoughts. 

In the future, I shall avoid 
him as much as possible, al- 
though to do that may have 
serious consequences, for he 
has been of great assistance to 
me in many ways; notwith- 
standing that, however, I shall 
7i 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

endeavor to adhere to my de- 
termination. 

Therefore, darling, forgive 
my unkindness, and all the 
mean things that I have not 
only written, but which I have 
also thought. I have been 
cowardly about it. I would 
not have dared to say them, 
for, one injured look from 
your sweet eyes would have 
made me feel miserably 
ashamed. 

There is some gcod in me, I 
hope. Under your sweet and 
73 



OF A COQUETTE 



gentle guidance, I could be 
made a worthy man; certainly, 
one who would always respect 
himself. I am sorely afraid 
that I do not do so now. 

Be patient and loving, dear 
one, and in the course of time, 
I trust that I shall have eradi- 
cated the pernicious germs 
which, no doubt, would have 
ruined what little virtue I may 
now possess. 

I feel an intense relief at the 
thought of having unburdened 
my soul to you, and am far 
73 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

happier than I have been in 
months. My love for you 
radiates throughout my entire 
nature, and there is a sunshine 
in my heart which makes it 
glad and warm. Therefore, 
if you can forgive the unhappi- 
ness which I have caused you, 
tell me so, and then my cup of 
joy will be truly full and over- 
flowing. 

I am sorry that I cannot 
come to you week after next. 
Always your devoted 
Harry. 
74 



OF A COQUETTE 



XI 

Harry Dear: 

I hate that man, and I hope 
that you will have nothing 
further to do with him. Such 
an individual is a curse to 
humanity. The harm that 
such as he can do may never 
be estimated. 

I forgive you dear, freely, 
and lovingly. I fully compre- 
hend, and admire your courage 
in frankly telling me the truth. 
75 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

It cost you some effort, and 
the mere fact of your having 
laid your heart bare has 
caused me to love you more 
than ever. 

As I asked you in my last 
letter, do come up here and we 
will talk the matter over — 
then forget it, except in so far 
as it helped to bind our hearts 
more firmly together. You say 
that you cannot come next 
week. I suppose that you would 
scarcely have time to make the 
necessary preparation. Apart 
76 



OF A COQUETTE 



from that, I have accepted an 
invitation to go to a fete cham- 
petre at the Red Rose Inn, on 
Saturday night of that week. 
It is sure to be a jolly affair, 
and I am anticipating it with 
great glee. George Bradley 
and I, are going to drive there 
by way of the Lake Road. I 
suppose that it will be quite late 
when we return. I wish that 
you could be there, but I 
could not go with you after 
having accepted George's in- 
vitation. 

77 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

Once again, dear, your letter 
was the sweetest one that you 
ever wrote me, and I love you 
most devotedly and fondly. I 
am famishing for a sight of 
your dear face. 

Always your own 

Claire. 



78 



■ 



OF A COQUETTE 



XII 

Dear Claire: 

Your letter was most accept- 
able. I appreciate your tender 
heart, only I wish that y*ou 
would write me more of what 
you do and say. I asked you 
to tell me about that trip to 
Shriner's, and all that you have 
said was, in effect, that you had 
had a lovely time. I asked you 
whether that man Bradley had 
kissed you or had tried to; 
who he was and where you 
79 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

had met him. Not a word 
from you on that subject! 
Now you calmly tell me that 
you are going to a dance with 
him by way of the Lake Road 
to the Red Rose Inn — a mat- 
ter of four miles in a round- 
about direction — I mean four 
miles longer. If I could only 
come up, you would have an 
excuse to decline his invita- 
tion; but, after all, I suppose 
that you are right, and that, 
under the circumstances, you 

could not go with me. 
80 



OF A COQUETTE 



Why do you not set my mind 
at rest about his kissing you? 
It is most aggravating and 
tantalizing. I must know! I 
shall not be happy until I do. 
Ever your loving 

Harry. 



8t 



THE LOVE LETTERS 
XIII 

Dear Harry: 

Your good resolutions seem 
to have deserted you. I could 
not possibly decline George's 
invitation; you only partly 
comprehend this fact. As for 
your other questions, it is ap- 
parent to me that you have 
again come under the influence 
of the fiend of whom you wrote. 
Please, Harry, keep away from 
him, and do not let us again 
82 



OF A COQUETTE 



fall into the way of nagging 
and fault-finding. I cannot 
write more to you to-day, be- 
cause Aunt Hetty has come to 
spend the afternoon with me. 
Ever your own 

Claire. 



83 

6 — Coquette 



THE LOVE LETTERS 
XIV 

Dear Claire: 

You have not answered my 
questions. Did or did not 
Mr. Bradley kiss you? I have 
told you that if he did I should 
give you up. I was never more 
serious in my life. I forgave 
you for kissing Charlie Strat- 
ton, but this man is a com- 
parative stranger. 

I do not propose to have my 
future wife flirting with every 
84 



OF A COQUETTE 



man she meets, and you might 
as well understand this. I 
shall have no more to say until 
you comply with my wish. 
Yours, 

Harry. 



85 



THE LOVE LETTERS 
XV 

Dear Harry: 

You are very unkind. You 
would like to shut me up and 
never permit me to look at 
nor speak to any man but you. 
As I have already told you, I 
am fond of the society of men, 
and I cannot help it. I never 
do anything of which I am 
ashamed, and I will not be 
threatened. 

As long as I appear to think 
86 



OF A COQUETTE 



you are the only man in the 
world, you are very kind and 
gentle, and altogether amiable. 
But let your imagination run 
loose and there is no tolerating 
you. It is like a cyclone 
gathering fury as it goes. 
You start with a gentle zephyr, 
a mere whiff, and in less time 
than it takes to write about it, 
you have lashed it into a 
gigantic whirlwind. 

Your disposition is entirely 
too jealous. I am tired of it, 
tired of being doubted; tired 
87 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

of considering what I ought to 
do. If I had always to stop 
and think whether this or that 
is right or wrong, I should die. 
I am too impulsive for that, 
and I will not be so hampered. 
Since you make an issue of 
it, and threaten me, I will tell 
you nothing regarding Mr. 
Bradley. 

Yours, 

Claire. 



88 



OF A COQUETTE 



XVI 

Claire : 

For some time past, I have 
missed my friend. I found 
him yesterday and related the 
circumstances in connection 
with that man Bradley. He 
laughed at me in a very pecul- 
iar way, and after some re- 
flection, said that I was an 
unsophisticated fool. I am 
inclined to agree with him. I 
89 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

do not wish to say unkind 
things, nor above all, do I wish 
to misjudge you. My reason 
tells me plainly that you are 
not acting fairly toward me, 
and I must insist upon know- 
ing the truth. I certainly feel 
that you have carried this 
flirtation with that man quite 
far enough. 

I shall carry out my threat, 
as you call it, if you still refuse 
to tell me that which I wish to 
know. 

Please do not let your pride 
90 



OF A COQUETTE 



and willfulness stand in the 
way of our happiness. 
Yours, 

Harry Yarnall. 



91 



THE LOVE LETTERS 



XVII 

Mr. Harry Yarnall : 

You "related the circum- 
stances in connection with that 
man Bradley" to your "friend/' 
did you? Well, this is my 
gratuitous opinion of your 
action. It was detestable. I 
would not marry a man of your 
disposition for the Kimberley 
mines. 

Let me give you a little ad- 
vice, Mr. Yarnall. Girls, as a 
92 



OF A COQUETTE 



rule, do not care for a madly 
jealous man. They are, per- 
haps, quite fond of testing a 
man's love, and rather enjoy 
his apparent discomfort, but 
they cannot and will not be 
nagged at and doubted. More- 
over, they glory in their inde- 
pendence for the short while 
it is theirs ; and if a man is will- 
ing to accept this gracefully, 
they generally cease to tease 
and then love him more than 
ever. 

By express, I send you a 
93 



THE LOVE LETTERS 

small package for which you 
may sometime have use. Fur- 
ther, Mr. Yarnall, for your edi- 
fication, I will tell you that Mr. 
Bradley did try to kiss me — 
what I did cannot now be of 
any possible concern to you. 
Very sincerely, 

Claire Vaughn. 



94 



OF A COQUETTE 



XVIII 

Dearest Claire: 

You are heartless and cruel. 
I must see you. I have not 
been well. I know that you will 
forgive me after I have talked 
with you. I have arranged to 
leave here on Friday night. 
Please give up the dance for 
my sake. I am heart-broken. 

Harry. 



95 



THE LOVE LETTERS 
XIX 

Mr. Henry Yarnall: 
I will not receive you. 

Claire Vaughn. 



96 



OF A COQUETTE 



XX 

(This note — a penciled scrawl 
— was found in Harry Yar- 
nalVs pocket.) 

Claire : 

I understand all now — I 
have heard and seen. The 
man whom you know as 
George Bradley is a scoundrel. 
If not too late, flee from him — 
flee from him — 



97 



EPILOGUE 

In the autumn of the follow- 
ing year, I was again in the 
midst of the scenes wherein 
had been enacted a tragedy, 
the memory of which clung to 
me vividly and persistently. 
Being there, I had an irresisti- 
ble desire to meet and con- 
verse with Miss Vaughn con- 
cerning the death of Harry 
Yarnall. To contrive such a 
meeting was, I thought, a 
comparatively simple task; but 
99 

7— Coquetti 



EPILOGUE 



to induce her to speak freely, 
I fancied, would be far more 
difficult. 

Inquiry regarding her place 
of residence, disclosed the piti- 
ful fact that Miss Vaughn had 
been dead nearly a year, but 
that her Aunt Hetty, however, 
resided in the adjoining house 
and could probably tell me 
whatever I wished to know. 

I called upon Aunt Hetty — 

every one called her so — and 

after an explanation of the 

deep interest that I had taken 

ioo 



EPILOGUE 



in Miss Vaughn, she, with in- 
effable tenderness, mingled 
with emotion, related substan- 
tially the following incidents : 

Claire was brought home in 
a state of unconsciousness. 
Brain fever developed, and for 
many weeks she wavered be- 
tween life and death. It was 
harrowing to hear her cry out 
in her delirium : 

"You are not George Brad- 
ley. You are — " 

There she would stop and 
then begin again — always the 
101 



EPILOGUE 



same, "You are not George 
Bradley. You are — " 

You must understand that 
this man came here, from 
where, nobody knew. His at- 
tention to her was of so 
marked a character that com- 
ment upon it was quite gen- 
eral and, in some instances, un- 
kind. Claire paid dearly for 
her infatuation. She was 
never again the bright sun- 
beam that she was before this 
dreadful thing happened. 

One day she said to me, 

102 



EPILOGUE 



"Auntie, I was cruel to Harry. 
I killed him. I shall die of 
grief and remorse/' 

Her recovery was not a 
rapid one, but when she was 
finally able to be in the air, she 
formed a habit of going to the 
lake where they had found his 
body. We tried to dissuade 
her, but our entreaties were 
unavailing. 

Before she died, she told me 

that this man — who assumed 

the name of Bradley — had 

written to her; confessed that 

103 



EPILOGUE 



he was Harry's confidant, and 
pleaded forgiveness. What 
more he may have said I know 
not. The evening that she re- 
ceived the letter, she went to 
the lake. She was gone such 
a length of time that we be- 
came alarmed for her safety, 
and went in search of her. 
We found her — crying bit- 
terly. She had a chill — and — 
in a few days — she was — dead. 



104 



FEB 20 1903 



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